


Dear Chat Noir

by Lady3ellewrites



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: AU Yeah AUgust (Miraculous Ladybug), AU Yeah AUgust 2020 (Miraculous Ladybug), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Animals Tikki and Plagg (Miraculous Ladybug), F/M, Ladynoir | Adrien Agreste as Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng as Ladybug, Pen Pals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26221693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady3ellewrites/pseuds/Lady3ellewrites
Summary: Adrien Agreste is a lonely teenager who writes letters to his fictional friend Plagg, and hides them in the Jardin du Luxembourg in Paris. No one will ever find them there.Or so he thinks.Marinette Dupain-Cheng finds a mysterious box as she walks her neighbour's dog in the popular Parisian park.Her curiosity will lead to a wonderful penpalship. And maybe something more.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 18
Kudos: 35





	1. Of mysterious findings

If you asked Adrien Agreste to describe himself, he would have said he was a somewhat normal child. Should you ask anyone else, their answers would range from “ _who_?” to “a child prodigy”.  


Adrien lived a secluded life in his family’s mansion, away from any distractions, as his father called anything that wasn’t piano practise or fencing training. Every school was considered a waste of time for his son’s intelligence, leading to private tutors to be taken on to satisfy Gabriel Agreste’s education standards. Adrien’s experience of the outside world was limited to being driven to these activities, if they couldn’t take place within the four walls that surrounded the Agreste Hôtel Particulier, and a weekly Sunday evening walk at the Jardin du Luxembourg with his bodyguard. The latter was the only tradition he’d managed to maintain after his mother’s passing. It wasn’t the same without her, but he did enjoy the fresh air. He’d also had a brief time in the spotlight as a model for his father’s fashion brand, but Gabriel Agreste had not looked on his son’s increased freedom and contacts with people his age with a favourable eye, and had restricted any unnecessary interactions.  


Adrien was therefore left alone with his thoughts most of the time. Part of him wished he could go out more and meet other children, but he knew from his father he was very lucky to be living the life he was. And it was true he couldn’t really complain: he lived in a palace, by Parisian standards, was well fed, well dressed, and was receiving the best education he could ever hope for. Some people had it a lot worse than he did.  


Still, he found himself dreaming that one day, maybe, he’d have a little more freedom. With no one to talk about it with, his father’s assistants all siding with the man who held the money if he tried to confide in them, Adrien had taken the habit of putting his thoughts to paper. It had been sporadic at first, but had soon evolved into a daily exercise. He sat in his bed at night, his gigantic room only lit by a little flashlight, and poured out his emotions.  


_Dear Plagg_ , the boy wrote that night. He had started addressing his letters to a fictional friend to make himself feel better. Once upon a time, he had tried journaling, but had soon discovered his inner thoughts were not as safe as he’d thought they’d be in the little notebook he kept in one of his fencing trophies; he’d noticed pages had been torn from flicking through them too fast, some had been cornered to mark certain parts, clearly indicating he wasn’t the book’s only reader. He’d therefore moved on to writing his entries on loose paper, which he hid in a little tin box next to a fountain in the Jardin du Luxembourg. He’d soon taken to the game of writing the letters, even enclosing them in envelopes. Between two visits to the park, he would stash them in various locations in his room, making sure the seals stayed intact.  


Adrien tried to vary the contents of his letters, even though no one would read them, and nothing particularly exciting happened to him on a day to day basis. He found it kept him focused on the small joys of his life, like when the cook smuggled him an extra croissant, a fragrant flower bloomed in the garden, or he spotted a ladybug on the window while studying.  


He signed the letter the usual way: _Until next time, Chat Noir_. He read through the letter again, satisfied with the result. Journaling really did wonders to improve his mood. Even if the negative feelings did remain somewhat, it felt good to “share” a little, even though his letters had yet to be found by anyone or anything. The letter would join the others the next Sunday, and he wouldn’t think twice about it.  


Or so he thought.  
\---  


“Tikki!” Marinette Dupain-Cheng chased after the turbulent dog, whose leash had once again escaped her hands while she admired one the Luxembourg statues. She wasn’t very good with dogs, but when her old neighbour Mr Fu had fallen ill, she’d bravely accepted to walk Tikki until he felt better. She’d figured it wouldn’t be very hard, given how calm the dog was.  


Apparently Mr Fu was an animal whisperer, though, because the dog had been nothing but excited since she’d taken custody of her. It was cute, but Marinette was also tired of running around, Tikki being particularly good at losing her.  


The young girl sighed as she saw the leash drag around a corner, and slowed her pace. She knew the Jardin du Luxembourg quite well thanks to its central location in Paris, making it a prime spot to meet up with friends. Tikki had just dashed into a dead end; the worst that could happen was her jumping into the Medicis Fountain, but she hoped the barriers that surrounded it would prevent that.  


Turning into the alley, Marinette saw her prayers had seemingly been answered, as Tikki was busy sniffing at something under a stone bench. The Parisian walked up to her, marveling at the fountain as she did so. The leafy trees surrounding it provided a nice dappled lighting and welcome shade on the hot summer Saturday. The babbling of the water and its gentle sprays only accentuated the cool atmosphere.  


Marinette sat on the bench, picked up Tikki’s leash and gently tried to pull her out from under her seat but encountered a great resistance.  
“What have you found there, girl?” Marinette asked, slightly concerned by the dog’s pining. She leaned over and tried to determine what had caught Tikki’s attention, hoping it would be a lost ball. She had seen rats scuttle around the park a couple of times, and had no interest in coming face to face with one, whether alive or dead.  
As she looked down and saw Tikki was pawing at a tin biscuit box, pushed deep under the bench, almost in the little hedge that stood behind it. Marinette smiled and shook her head, reading the inscription from afar: _Macarons_. That dog really did only think with her stomach.  


“You know you’re not supposed to eat those, they’re not for you.” Marinette scratched the dog’s neck. Seeing that it didn’t divert her attention, she sighed and kneeled down next to the bench, reaching for the box herself. “You know, I’m sure you’re going to be disappointed, I don’t know if you’re aware but most tin boxes these days don’t actually contain food.” She explained, although she wasn’t sure her audience was very receptive to her words.  


Marinette pulled out the tin, which was a lot lighter than she’d expected. She shook it gently next to Tikki’s ear to prove it did not contain treats, and was surprised to hear a soft ruffle, like paper. She sat on the bench again and laid the box on her lap. Her hands hovered over it, hesitant to open it.  


She looked around suspiciously, watching out for anyone trying to pull a prank on her, or just its innocent owner, but the area was empty.  


_I really shouldn’t open it_ , she thought to herself. The box looked quite clean for something that was hidden. It was probably used often, or had been dropped off recently. Had it been hers, she probably wouldn’t have liked to know someone had gone through it. Tikki licked the box gently, which Marinette interpreted as “no one has to know”.  


“Okay, fine, I’m doing it for you. It’ll be our secret.” She nodded gravely at the dog and lifted the edges of the lid.  


She didn’t know what she’d expected to find. Maybe a bunch of little trinkets, like in the movie _Amélie_. Perhaps a badly hidden stash of money. Whatever it had been, it definitely wasn’t a bunch of letters, all sporting the same handwriting on the envelopes. Tikki looked into the box curiously.  


“See, I told you so.” Marinette tilted the box towards the dog. “Nothing in there for you.”  


She carefully picked the first envelope. It had the previous Sunday’s date on it. Nothing else.  


She was about to look at the next one when her phone rang. She jumped at the sound, almost spilling the box’s contents as she did so, and fished the device out of her handbag. A picture of her parents appeared on the lit screen. Marinette looked at the time and swore internally. She’d been out for over an hour, when she’d said she was only going to be half an hour. She hastily put the letters back in the tin, and slid the latter back under the bench.  


“Come on Tikki, time to go home.”  
\---  


As she lay in bed that night, Marinette couldn’t stop thinking about the box and its contents. It had just been so odd for it to be there. Who, in their right mind, stored their letters in a public garden? Surely there were better hiding places in an apartment, or wherever the author lived.  


Speaking of the author, she found it weird that there’d only seemed to be one, if she could tell from the neatly traced dates on the envelopes she’d seen. It therefore didn’t seem like a makeshift postbox, like the one in Little Women.  


She’d definitely have to investigate the matter the next day.


	2. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette gives into the temptation. Adrien's day out is tarnished by a lost item.

The Tom & Sabine bakery being one of the few Parisian _boulangeries_ to stay open through the whole day on Sundays, it received a steady flow of customers that called for personnel reinforcements. It was particularly the case in Summer, as the neighbourhood bakers tended to take their holiday leave in July rather than in late August like Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng, so Marinette always made a point of helping her parents out. Although slightly clumsy, she was very appreciated among the clients for her kindness and excellent pastry advice.

Today, though, Marinette’s mind was a million miles away from the popular bakery. She mixed up orders and tripped a lot more than usual, although not enough to worry her parents; they caught their daughter’s mistakes with a smile, attributing her absentmindedness to the fact she’d finally relaxed into holiday mode.

Marinette secretly watched the time, eager to return to the park. Her thoughts were entirely focused on the mysterious Luxembourg writer, and their letters. What could they possibly hold? Memoirs? An unreciprocated love story? Deep secrets?... She just _had_ to know. 

As the hours ticked by, and the park’s closing time approached, she saw her hopes of meeting their author dwindle, but was determined to get to the letters nonetheless. When the bakery finally closed its doors for the day, Marinette conjured some vague excuse and ran out before her parents could even say a word. 

Skulking around the fountain, cautious not to bring attention to herself despite the fact she was heavily panting from her journey, she finally dropped onto the bench and pulled out the tin box from under it. She was surprised to find a new letter neatly lined up with the others, with the day’s date. Flicking through the older ones, Marinette realised all of them must have been dropped off on a Sunday. Whoever wrote them would not be back until the next week. 

Her temptation to just pick up the box and go home with it won over the more reasonable option of letting it be when she heard heavy footsteps behind her. 

“Excuse me, miss.” A park guard cleared his throat. “The park will be closing in a few minutes, please make your way to the nearest exit.”

She got up gracefully, clutching her loot and gave the man a dazzling smile for enabling her curiosity. “ _Merci, Monsieur._ ”

\---

Adrien was over the Moon. Today was _definitely_ a good day. 

Gabriel had tried and failed to find a better model than his son for his autumn collection photo shoot, leading to an unscheduled outing to the jardin du Luxembourg. The boy would have hugged his father, had it been acceptable. 

And if the man had actually told him the good news to his face, rather than sending his assistant, Nathalie.

He wasn't going to hold it against him, though. He'd already really brightened up his Wednesday. 

Adrien basked in the warm Sun between two outfit changes, eyeing the Médicis Fountain. He'd decided that such an occasion deserved a special letter, which he’d carefully hidden inside his sock. It wasn’t the most comfortable option, but he knew it was one of the only clothing items he’d be able to keep all day long. He shifted the envelope around depending on the photographer’s angle to avoid it being seen in the promotional pictures.

When the crew declared a coffee break after various takes in front of the Palais du Luxembourg, Adrien furtively made his way towards his hiding place, using the fact he shouldn't stay out in the Sun too much as an excuse to do so. He once again mentally thanked his father for providing the perfect escape; Adrien couldn’t count the number of times Gabriel had rambled about his “fragile complection”, especially in front of his staff. Nobody would question his actions. 

He pretended to examine the statue of Polypheme and Galatea that stood in the centre of the Fountain for good measure, taking great care to look refreshed. He saw a couple of flashes go off, proof that he was still being watched. When he was satisfied the photographers had gotten all the candids they wanted, he ventured further back into the shade and sat on the stone bench. He slowly reached down behind it, making sure he did not attract attention to himself. He groped for the box in the vicinity of its usual location -he would know, being the one who placed it there each time-, to no avail. He frowned and shifted further to the right, covering a new patch of sand. Still not feeling the cool metallic tin, he pretended to drop the jacket he’d been holding in the last official picture and squatted exaggeratingly slowly to retrieve it.

He looked under the bench, hoping he’d unknowingly pushed the box too far back into the hedge. But there was nothing more than a lonely paper receipt and a couple of leaves there. 

Adrien’s heart sunk in his chest. His secret stash had finally been found, and been disposed of. He felt tears gather in his eyes, partially blurring his vision. Part of him had always known this was bound to happen someday. It wasn’t a particularly discreet hiding place, after all. The other part of him was disappointed that his safe space was no longer.

His name being called out brought him back to reality. He took a deep breath, wiped his eyes, and wore his best smile as he stood up and walked back towards the crew. Spotting a dustbin on his way, he pretended to tie his shoelaces and swiftly took out the envelope from his sock. He tore it apart and threw it away. 

_Sorry, Plagg_.

\---

“Tikki, what have I done?” Marinette shook her head, the dog sitting on the floor next to her desk chair. 

Mister Fu had bizarrely not been home when the young girl had swung by his apartment to bring back the hound, as she liked to call Tikki. She’d therefore decided to take her back to her place while she waited for a call back from the old man. 

On Sunday night, Marinette’s best friend Alya had paid her an unexpected visit which had turned into dinner, as Tom and Sabine were always happy to welcome their daughter’s friends. It had been a fun evening, although it had teared Marinette away from the letterbox. The young girl had felt too tired to enjoy the reading experience that night and had decided to leave the surprise for the next morning.

Except the next morning had brought another distraction. As had the next afternoon. And every other day after that, until Saturday came around and Marinette had decided she really needed to do something about the whole box situation before the mysterious author realised it was missing.

She’d been about to open the first envelope when she’d received a call from Mister Fu asking her to dogsit for the morning. She’d thought it was only fitting that Tikki should be there to share the experience, since she'd discovered the box, so had eagerly accepted. She’d even taken the dog back to the Luxembourg garden to tell her all the latest developments of the story.

All the stalling, however, had made a severe dent in her resolution to read the letters. She had been well educated by her mother, after all; it had always been a house rule that one should not read someone else’s mail without their consent.

Marinette therefore sat in front of the box, unsure what to do with it. And the clock was ticking for her to put it back in its rightful place. 

Tikki whimpered in reply, looking at something on Marinette’s desk. The teenager followed the dog’s stare. 

“But of course!” She exclaimed, her eyes landing on her correspondence kit. “You’re a genius, you know that?” She affectionately rubbed the dog’s ears before reaching for a blank sheet of paper.

“What better than a letter to get into contact with this person?” She thought out loud. “Let’s see, dear…” She mumbled, before stopping. “Dear _who_ , actually?” She ruffled through the envelopes, looking for the sender’s name, or even initials. Having gone through them at least half a dozen times before and not seen anything, she wasn’t surprised not to find the information.

She took the latest letter in her hands, pensively pouting as she considered her next move. 

“I’ll just look at the signature.” She promised Tikki. The dog gave a bark of approval.

Marinette opened the envelope and unfolded its contents to reveal the last line. 

“ _Chat Noir_ …” She read out loud. She was impressed by his cursive handwriting, which looked a lot more professional than hers. She’d definitely have to up her calligraphy game if she wanted to keep up with his aesthetics. Her eyes scanned the rest of the letter, admiring how pretty the words looked on the page. 

Before she could register what was happening, she started reading the letter’s contents.

_Dear Plagg,  
I hope your week was a little more eventful than mine. It’s nice not to have “school” anymore as I get to sleep in every morning (Nathalie still keeps me busy with holiday lessons, though), but there isn’t much to do and I’m a little lonely now fencing classes are on break. I miss seeing people my age. I guess it’s something to look forward to when summer ends though!  
The good thing is that I finally have time to catch up on the few animes Father allows me to watch, which is a lot of fun. I’m really enjoying the new Majestia episodes, they’re really getting more serious with the plot now! I can’t wait to see what happens next.  
In other news, the cook managed to sneak a croissant on my breakfast tray on Tuesday! I don’t know how he did it, but it was a lovely surprise (not to mention, absolutely delicious). We’re getting more serious with the food hiding now, I really enjoyed it when he camouflaged chouquettes or macarons but they weren’t very filling. I’m trying to find an idea to thank him, but it would need to be discreet since I never really see him in person. Actually, maybe I could ask father if I could take some cooking lessons with him. It would be an excellent skill to have for later. I’ll let you know if my plan goes forward.  
Wishing you all the best for next week!  
Until next time,  
Chat Noir_

Marinette put the letter back down. She didn’t know who this Plagg person was (what an odd name, as well), but it didn’t seem very nice of them to not reply to Chat Noir. He seemed like a very sweet person, although the things he got excited about were a little weird. 

Then again, she was used to getting pastries every morning; her opinion of croissants might not have been very representative.

She was slightly relieved to read he went to school, even if she didn’t quite know how to interpret the quotation marks around the word. She probably would have gone ahead with writing to him without that detail, but she liked to know her potential penpal seemed to be around the same age as she was. It made her feel safer, somehow. The fact he felt lonely just reinforced her resolution to write to him.

Marinette retrieved her fountain pen and started her reply. 

_Dear Chat Noir,  
I hope this letter finds you well. Your letterbox caught my dog’s attention last week, and I must admit I was quite intrigued by it. I might even have brought it back home with me. I hope you didn’t miss it too much.  
I promise I didn’t read any of your letters. Well, that’s a lie. I _did _open the latest one to see what I should call you. And my eyes might have landed on the word lonely. Since your recipient, Plagg, seems to be just about as responsive as a sock (sorry, that sounds rude; I’ve just noticed there weren’t any letters from him when you write to him every week), I wanted to extend a friendly hand and offer my penpalship. I’ll of course wait for your go ahead to read the other letters, or we can pick up from the next one, or just say the word and I’ll forget everything I saw and never bother you again.  
Here’s hoping you’ll get another croissant on Tuesday (my bad, I might have read the whole letter, sorry), and that maybe you’ll accept my proposition!  
All the best,_

Marinette’s pen stopped in mid air. If her recipient wasn’t going to reveal his name, then maybe she should also find herself a pen name. She looked around her, nothing original coming to her mind. Her eyes finally landed on her stationary box, from which a bunch of red polka-dotted envelopes stuck out. She smiled as inspiration struck, and signed.

_Ladybug (I, too, can pick a fun name!)_

She read through her letter again, and, satisfied with its contents, picked one of said envelopes and slid her letter in it before neatly tucking it into the box. 

She would be dropping it off first thing in the morning, to make sure Chat Noir didn’t miss it.

“And now, we wait.” She smiled at Tikki, who barked in response. Marinette thought she sounded hopeful.

\---

Adrien had felt down most of the week because of his lost journal. He’d even stopped writing altogether, thinking it was all a waste of time anyway. If it was all going to end up in the bin, might as well not even put in the effort.

On Friday, he’d been struck by a bout of paranoia; what if the letters hadn’t been thrown away, but taken? What if they had been by someone he knew? Would they fall into his father’s hands? Their contents weren’t compromising, but he still hated the possibility. If his father wanted to know things about him, then maybe he should just come and talk to him directly.

On Saturday, after a good night’s sleep which did wonders to clear his spirits, Adrien concluded that it was no use crying over spilt milk. Even if the box _did_ end up with his father, which he doubted since no one but his bodyguard had ever seen him remotely close to the hiding place, he could always deny it being his. He generally kept his missives quite vague; some details could potentially evoke his lifestyle, but it wouldn’t be a certainty.

He’d therefore decided to just start again, as if nothing had changed.

Adrien had always been very thankful that his bodyguard wasn't the talkative type, but he was particularly so this Sunday as he walked around with a jacket in his hand despite the Parisian heat. Anyone would and probably _should_ have commented on the teenager's odd decision to go out with a coat in the middle of a heatwave, or at the very least its weird shape; Adrien had cleverly concealed a new box in it, and carried it around like a makeshift bag. 

The Gorilla had just shrugged and opened the door to let the boy out.

As slyly as usual, he made his way to the Médicis fountain, with a little pang at the thought that his previous correspondence was lost forever. He shook off the feeling. He was turning over a new leaf.

Out of habit, though, he squatted next to the bench. His eyes brushed over the familiar scenery, and, to his surprise, spotted his old macarons tin. He almost dropped the new one as he pulled it out.

Sitting on the bench, he carefully opened it, and was very pleased to see all his letters seemed to be there. He smiled widely as he counted them (he wouldn't have been able to tell if one was missing that way, but it felt like something he should be doing). As he reached the end of the stash, he noticed that a new envelope stuck out like a sore thumb, red when all the others were white. 

Curiously, he pulled it out and noticed it was addressed to him: 

_Chat Noir  
The tin box under the bench  
Médicis Fountain  
Jardin du Luxembourg  
75006 Paris_

He looked out for its author, half-hoping they might still be around, and for the Gorilla, to try and estimate how much time he had. Seeing that no one seemed to be watching, he eagerly opened the letter and read through it, his smile widening as he did so.

Ladybug seemed really nice. 

His heart rate picked up at the thought of starting a new friendship. He would've hugged the paper if he hadn't been afraid of crinkling it. He searched his jacket’s pockets for the pen he always carried in it (he knew taking it had been a good idea, even if its primary purpose of box carrier had ended up being useless), and quickly scribbled on his latest envelope. 

_Dear Ladybug, thanks for your letter! I don't have much time to answer it properly today, but will do next week. Best of luck reading all of mine between now and then! Chat Noir_

He smiled at his pun (although could mentioning luck when talking to a ladybug really be considered as a pun?) and laid it nicely flat on top of the other letters so she wouldn’t miss his reply. He read Ladybug's once more, committing some details to memory so he’d be able to hold a nice epistolary conversation.

This Summer was going to be less lonely than he’d thought it would be.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @2manyfandoms2count !


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